Who I Am

Why won’t anyone listen to what I say, one ear out the other or completely pushed away? My voice is soft yes but I still have a voice, just like others’ decision to listen is their very own choice. I guess what I speak isn’t meant to be heard, gone with the wind like the wings on a bird. So I keep to myself and stay locked away, asking me what’s wrong but what am I suppose to say? You’re the reason I won’t sit here and talk to you about my flaws, how you’re the reason I’m building these titanium steel plated walls? Making sure no one sees the true knowledge I have within, for you made me feel me speaking with my voice is one of the deadly sins. “Nothing I’m fine” my response forever, wondering if I’ll be able to ever get myself truly put back together. I found a new way for people to hear my mental views and ways, my poetry is my voice maybe it’s temporary maybe it’ll stay. Maybe I’m too damaged to lift my voice for the fear no one will listen, when I’m part of a conversation I feel my eyes sometimes glisten. Filling with joy for that one moment my voice is included in discussion, instead of keeping to myself deep inside yelling and cussing. Until my recovery this is all you will see, my poetry & wisdom all that makes me, me.

A philosophical question for anyone who has an idea. Imagine my hands are a set of scales. In my right hand I hold this crazy little thing called love. You can choose anything you want to place in my left

Mystery within my seizure: Who are you? Who are you? Why are you leaving? Where are you going? I uttered these words during a seizure. Imagining you puts my mind under pressure. Searching for your identity is like a hunt

The pulse seems tranquil and still, But they don’t have blood in it filled. Strange, the brain is at bark within. Why this uneasiness seems like an attaching shark? I do sit and endeavour to settle it down, But for